


Sickness

by Walutahanga



Category: Superman (Reeveverse), Superman - All Media Types, Superman Returns (2006)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, OT3, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail, Sickfic, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walutahanga/pseuds/Walutahanga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a few months after the movie. An attack on Superman leads to a shift in the dynamic between Clark, Lois and Richard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clark is sick.

Richard notices it when he sees the man coughing into a case file. It’s an unusual sight, because Clark normally has the rude health of a young bull. He doesn’t catch colds, doesn’t get food-poisoning, and once downed seven tequila shots and didn’t even wobble (Christmas party; there’s footage somewhere). Seeing him hacking into a handkerchief, looking washed out and sorry for himself, is unusual in the extreme.

Richard feels enough concern to put down the file he’s reading and walk across the bullpen.

“You know, Clark. If you’re sick, you don’t have to be here.”

Clark looks up with that perpetually startled look behind his glasses.

“Oh it’s no problem.” He coughs again. “Really, I feel fine.”

It’s a weak lie. Whilst Clark is quite talented at dissembling and distraction – something that Richard realized after a few weeks of working with him, and that he suspects Perry knew from the start – he’s lousy at outright lying.

Still, Richard can’t force a grown man to go home and rest up, though he really feels that’s what he should be doing.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he says reluctantly.

Clark smiles brightly, pushing his glasses back onto his nose where they’d begun to slip.

“Oh yes, I’m sure. Thank you anyway.”

Richard walks back to Lois’ desk with a smile. There is something charming about Clark’s innocence. He’s the kind of guy who’ll say ‘gosh-darn’ and blush as if it was purest filth coming out of his mouth. He’ll always hold a door open for a lady, but trip over his own feet if asked out to dinner. Quite simply, he’s the kind of guy who gets constantly overlooked by women, but would make the most wonderful boyfriend and husband.

Richard frowns in thought as he picks up his file.

“Hey, Lois?”

Lois is typing quickly, eyes never lifting from the screen.

“Yes, honey?”

“Are any of your friends single?”

“I don’t know.” She is curious enough to look away from the screen up at him. “Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking we should set Clark up with someone.”

Across the room, there’s a kafuffle. It’s Clark, tripping over his own wastepaper basket. He waves off Jimmy’s concern, looking flustered.

“No, really. I’m fine. I have to look where I’m going…”

Richard looks back at Lois, who raises an eyebrow at him.

“I thought we agreed never, _ever_ to set up our friends again,” she reminds him. “Or are we forgetting Chloe and Ollie?”

Richard winces. They’re still feeling the fallout of that incident after three years.

“In any case,” Lois continues. “My female friends would eat Clark alive.” 

“Ah. Good point.” He forgot about that. Lois doesn’t have a lot of female friends, exactly. More like allies or colleagues that she respects. All are driven women who wouldn’t have the time or patience for a bumbling reporter who gets stuck in revolving doors. “I guess we could–”

“Richard.” She holds up a finger. “Can we talk about this later? Right now I really, really need to finish this article.”

“Of course.”

He goes back to reading his file. Earlier this morning Superman had been caught in a confrontation with some robbers. Somehow or another they’d managed to get hold of kryptonite dust. Their attempt had only been partly successful, as although they’d managed to throw it in his face, he’d only inhaled a little bit and still had plenty of strength left to tie them up for the police. He’d flown away and was presumably recovering somewhere.

It is a scary thought, that everyday criminals can get hold of kryptonite so easily. And yet after an entire island made of kryptonite sprang into being, Richard supposes it’s likely that there are pieces of kryptonite washing up on the shore all over the world. It is a distinctly more dangerous world for Superman than it was six months ago.

Across the room, Clark gives another hacking cough. It doesn’t sound right at all to Richard. He makes up his mind that if Clark doesn’t go home before lunch, he’ll talk to Perry about sending him home. Perry might carry on like a hard-ass but he won’t want all his reporters getting whatever bug Clark has caught. 

Suddenly Clark sits up. There’s a look of horror on his face that Richard interprets as ‘ _I’m going to be sick_.’ This is confirmed when Clark rushes out in the direction of the bathroom, miraculously avoiding running into anyone’s desk. Amazing what adrenaline can do for a person.

Lois is frowning after Clark.

“Maybe someone should go see if he’s okay,” she says. Richard has only taken a step in the direction of the bathroom when a news report starts flashing across the TV screens.

_“Breaking news at Central Bank. Three armed gunmen have taken an unconfirmed number of hostages and are threatening to – oh, wait. Here’s Superman now.”_

The story goes as expected. Superman takes down gunmen, releases hostages, everyone goes home. The only thing out of the ordinary is that the Man of Steel is looking distinctly ill. He’s pale and sweating, and he keeps turning his face to the side to cough. The last time Richard saw him looking this bad, he’d just had a kryptonite shiv shoved in his gut.

“He doesn’t look so good,” Lois murmurs. She’s watching the TV screen where Superman is disappearing into the sky. Richard fights the usual unease that crops up every time she speaks of Superman.

“You saw that too?” He says, trying to keep his voice natural. Perhaps it doesn’t work because she tears her eyes away from the screen to look at him.

“Richard –”

“Maybe I should go check on Clark.”

Clark is just coming out of the bathroom when Richard walks over. He looks worse than before, his clothes and hair rumpled.

“Are you okay?” Richard asks.

“Yeah, I –” Clark wipes his forehead. “I think maybe you were right. Maybe I should go home.”

Richard nods, relieved.

“I’ll give you a lift.”

Clark argues that he doesn’t want to be any bother, but Richard has learned by now how to handle Clark. You allow him to make all the arguments you like whilst shepherding him in the direction you want him to go.

“… that’s nice, Clark. Here’s your coat… you’re absolutely right, watch your step on the elevator… I think so too. My car’s just over this way…”

By the time he’s gotten Clark in the car and is driving to his flat, Clark’s arguments have dried up. He’s more concerned with coughing into his handkerchief. Richard is getting truly concerned.

“You know Clark, maybe you should go to a doctor.”

He’s not surprised by how fast Clark shoots that one down.  Mentally he shrugs. He’s gotten the man to take a day off, and that’s pretty incredible with Clark. Clark is a grown man and will go to the hospital if he needs to – well, Richard _hopes_ he will. Sometimes between Jimmy, Clark, Lois, and Jason, he feels like he’s the father of a group of precocious toddlers straining on their leads in different directions.

“Just get some rest,” he says. “Okay? No running out to follow up a lead or anything like that.”

Clark gives that boyscout smile as he gets out of the car.

“Promise.”

Richard, somehow, is not reassured. 


	2. Chapter 2

Richard doesn’t have time to think about Clark for the rest of the day. Superman is the story.

There are two more robberies; one of an armoured money truck, and one of a diamond exhibit at the Metropolis Museum. Personally, Richard thinks holding a diamond exhibit in Metropolis is just asking for them to be stolen, but the only diamond he’s ever bought is the one on Lois Lane’s finger, so what does he know?

Superman shows up for each one, and he looks progressively worse. He doesn’t waste time negotiating, or letting bullets bounce off him as he’s prone to do on occasion (showing off, Lois says affectionately, and Richard tries not to be jealous). He just takes the guns off the crooks and hands them over to the police. He doesn’t even stick around for a comment before he shoots off into the sky. 

Perry is already planning the Health and Lifestyle section.

“’Superman Sick’,” he says, hands tracing the headline in the air. “Is the Man of Steel suffering a relapse from his time in hospital? What do dieticians recommend?”

Richard doesn’t have to look at Lois to know she’s raring for battle.

“Chief, this isn’t a matter of regular diet and exercise,” she said. “It’s that kryptonite those crooks threw in his face.”

“True,” Perry said, without missing a beat. “That’s why you’ll be covering that in _your_ article. What does this mean for Metropolis when kryptonite can be found on every street corner? Should it be banned as an illegal substance? Run with it, Lois, and trust your instincts. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

Lois is already scribbling notes on her pad.

“Richard.” Perry points at his nephew. “I want to know where that kryptonite came from. Geography of the island, where it washed up, which countries are most likely to feel the effects.”

Richard frowns, making a note.

“I’ll see if I can get hold of an oceanographer…”

“Uh… Chief? I was just wondering… _should_ we be publishing this?”

Everyone in the room looks at Jimmy. He shifts his feet uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

“Well, it’s just… we’d essentially be mapping out the location for people to go find it.”

Richard can’t believe he didn’t think of that. He shares a quick look with Lois, who has the same look of suppressed horror on her face. Despite the friction between them these days, their agreement is unanimous on one subject: a little boy who is fragile enough without being exposed to that poison.

“He’s right, Perry-” he blurts out at the same time Lois speaks up;

“He makes a good point-”

Perry holds up a hand and they fall silent. Perry rubs his forehead.

“You realize the competition will be doing exactly this?” He says. Lois bites her lip. Richard is squeezing his pen so tight, he’s vaguely surprised it doesn’t snap and splatter ink everywhere.

“Maybe we could present it in another way,” Lois says. “As in – they’ve wounded him, but he’s still managed to foil two burglaries in the meantime. Kryptonite as unpredictable and fairly useless.”

The smile returns to Perry’s face.

“I like it. Go with it. Richard, cancel that oceanographer.”

Richard has already blacked out the name on his pad.

“Sure, Perry.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon slaving over that edition. It is a battle with Perry, as Perry wants the kryptonite to be up front and center, while Richard and Lois are trying to make it into an interesting but fairly irrelivant sideline. In the end, it falls somewhere between, and Richard resigns himself to having to be satisfied with that. 

* * *

“It doesn’t make sense though.”

Lois says this on their way to pick up Jason, driving through the streets of Metropolis.

“What doesn’t?” Richard's not really paying attention, trying to weave around traffic while calculating the odds of their son (Superman's son) being exposed to kryptonite in Metropolis. Maybe they should move. 

“How they got hold of kryptonite dust. Only one person in the world knows for sure how to identify and process kryptonite and he’s supposed to be dead.”

“Missing,” Richard corrects her absently. “Missing presumed dead. And if Lex Luthor figured it out on his own, I’m sure some other entrepreneur can do the same.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Lois’ expression is one of reluctant admiration. “Lex was brilliant. Evil, twisted, repugnant… but brilliant. I doubt there’s even a handful of other people in the world who would have been able to make the connection between Superman and a meteor that fell in Ethiopia, let alone make the stuff work. I know for a fact there were about ten different government agencies trying to pry the secrets of kryptonite out of him while he was in prison, but all of them went away empty-handed."

Lois has uncanny instincts when it comes to journalism, and Richard has learned to trust them. 

He stops for a red light, and turns to look at her.

“So you think Lex Luthor’s behind this?” 

“Maybe.” She’s tapping her fingernails on the door handle, forehead creased in thought. “Involved somehow. I just need more information.”

That’s Lois on the scent of a story, and Richard leaves her to think over it.

Jason’s in a good mood when they pick him up, chattering away about the house he drew for art. Richard checks his face for signs of fatigue – an impulse that has become habit over the years – and is relieved to find none. Although Jason has shown a marked improvement over the past year, there is little as of yet to set him apart from other children. Displays of super-strength so far only occur when he is extremely agitated or upset. Superman had said that Jason is probably just entering another stage of growth, during which some of his powers manifest. It will happen again in another few years. Apparently there are seven stages of growth for kryptonians, just like humans, but there is no telling how widely they will vary, and what will come when.

_“Speed will probably kick in about nine or ten,”_ he’d said. _“That’s when it was for me. But then I was lifting cars at three, so he may be on a later schedule. To be honest, there’s just no telling with Jason. There’s no precedent for a half human, half kryptonian.”_

Puberty is a headache none of them want to think about just yet. Kryptonite carries the sort of horror that poison once did. Superman’s fairly sure that Jason will eventually become immune to most physical threats except one – and possibly even that too. Jason was tense on the boat, but Lois isn’t sure whether he’d been reacting to the kryptonite or the scary man waving a green pipe at them. Either way, they will stave off that threat as long as they can.

At home, Richard makes dinner whilst Jason watches a cartoon. Lois is looking up something on her computer. He belatedly remembers Clark whilst he’s putting the peas on, and gives him a call. He only gets a dial tone. Richard hopes that means the man’s konked out on cold medication, not tracking down a source in down-town Metropolis.

He makes a mental note to check on Clark in the morning and takes the peas out of the microwave, shielding his hands with a tea towel.

“Dinner’s ready!”


	3. Chapter 3

Clark’s not at the Daily Planet the next morning.

“He just didn’t show,” Jimmy says when Richard asks. “He didn’t even call in sick or anything.”

Superman, apparently, is a no-show as well. Three robberies in the same morning, and not so much as a peep from the boy in blue. Everyone is talking and speculating, but there is a sour undercurrent of fear. What if this time he’s not coming back? What if inhaled kryptonite did what the solid stuff couldn’t?

Lois is frightened, and characteristically covers up her fear by preparing for battle: this time by arranging an interview.

“Why S.T.A.R.labs?” Richard asks.

“Because they’re the only labs who have made a comprehensive study of kryptonite.” Lois talks as she throws pad, pen and tape recorder into her handbag. “They were the ones who discovered Krypton all those years ago, and they know more about it’s properties than any human being aside from Luthor. Dammit, where is my –”

Richard picks up the mobile phone hiding under a stack of paper and hands it to her.

“So you think they can help?” He says. “They weren’t sure what do last time Superman was in –”

“That was then, this is now!” Lois snaps, pulling her coat about her shoulders. “Maybe they’ve learnt something new. Maybe they have a better idea of what it’s effects will be. But it’s _something_.”

She glares at him, full of fire and fury, daring him to argue. Instead, he nods and says:

“I’ll come with you.”

Lois’ anger deflates and she looks relieved.

“Are you sure? We only need one –”

“Well, two reporters are more intimidating than one, even if one is Lois Lane. And besides.” He glances behind him at Perry’s office. “I don’t feel right just sitting here either.”

Lois stares at him for a second as if she’s seeing him for the first time, then leans in and kisses him.

“What was that for?”

“No reason. Come on.” She picks up her car keys. “Lets go.”

In the end, Perry’s distracted so it’s easy slip out unnoticed. Richard kind of suspects Jimmy tripped and spilled that coffee on Kat Grant on purpose, but that’s neither here nor there.

S.T.A.R. labs is thirty minutes away, in good traffic, but the traffic is lousy and they’re stuck on a small street waiting for lights to change. Richard glances out the window and sees the street sign.

“Whitney Street. This is where Clark lives.”

Lois gives him an irritated look.

“So?”

“Pull over for a minute,” Richard says. “I want to check on Clark.”

A muscle in Lois’ cheek twitches and she looks like she’s about to argue, but the traffic isn’t going anywhere, so she sighs and parks the car.

“We’ll be really quick about this,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Promise?”

Richard unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the car door.

“Promise.”

There’s no answer from Clark’s button, which worries Richard. Whilst Lois taps one high heeled shoe and looks pointedly at her watch, he tries the button above. He gets a woman who seems to like Clark (“You mean the nice young man who always carries my groceries?”) and buzzes them in.

The walls are a tacky green, and the lifts are down, so they trek up the stairs. Richard decides that first thing tomorrow – after finding Superman, curing him, and throwing all the kryptonite he can find into a gigantic furnace – he’s going to talk to one of his friends in real estate. Surely with a little effort they can find something better than this for Clark.

At number ten, Lois raps smartly on the door.

“Clark! Clark, you home?”

There’s no answer and she turns to Richard.

“See. He’s not here. Now can we–”

Richard shushes her.

“Hear that?”

From inside the apartment is the sound of coughing. Not coughing like what you get from inhaling dust or chocking on your own spit, but the awful wheezing asthma that both of them are all too familiar with.

“Clark?” Richard calls. “Clark, are you okay?”

There is the sound of something breaking. Lois rattles the doorknob. 

“Clark Kent, open this door right this minute!” She shouts. “Richard, can you – ?”

“Here, out the way.”

Richard tugs her out of the way and kicks the door in. It’s a heavy affair, but it’s not the first time he’s done this. The door flies open, slamming against the wall. Richard hopes he hasn’t broken anything, but doesn’t have time to dwell on that thought.

A coffee table is lying on it’s side, as if someone knocked it over trying to reach the door, and a vase is lying in shards on the carpet. Clark is kneeling, shoulders hunched and head down. The wheezes he makes are terrible, as he fights for air.

Another person might have panicked. Not Richard or Lois. They have been in this exact same situation with Jason when his asthma flared up. Lois pulls her phone out of her bag to call an ambulance while Richard goes to help Clark. The man is groping feebly for his glasses. Richard is used to seeing them on Clark’s face, acting as a small shield he can retreat behind. They seem small and apologetic on their own, resting just out of their owner’s grasp. Richard feels a pang of remorse as he tugs Clark upright, forcing him away from that small defence.

“Clark, listen to me. You have to sit up. It will help clear your airways. _Sit up_.”

It is more of a struggle than he’d anticipated, manouvering Clark upright. It’s not like Clark is resisting him and Richard’s no a pushover, but the man is heavier than he looks. Richard braces Clark back against his own chest as he used to do with Jason, supporting his weight. He reaches around with one hand to rest it over Clark’s heart.

“Just relax,” he says. “Take deep, slow breaths. That’s it.”

He feels the tremendous effort it takes for Clark to follow his instructions. His whole body shudders against Richard’s with each breath. Richard silently berates himself. He should have checked on Clark last night. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re taking you to a hospital. You’ll be fine.”

Clark struggles for air.

“No… hosp…”

His efforts are cut short by another coughing fit. This time it’s a wet, hacking sound. Richard is unable to stop him doubling over. When he manages to get Clark sitting upright again, he is frozen by the sight of red flecks on the carpet.

“Clark, you’re going to the hospital,” he says, keeping his voice steady with an effort. “I don’t care if I have to _carry_ you down those stairs, you’re going.”

He looks up and sees Lois is staring at Clark, expression transfixed. Her mobile is forgotten in one lax hand, number half-dialed. Richard wonders if she too has seen those telling red spots.

“Lois,” he says, not wanting her to draw Clark’s attention to the blood. “ _Lois_.”

She shakes her head, still staring.

“Richard…”

Then Richard sees it. There are a set of glass doors leading out onto the balcony. They’re closed now, and all three people are reflected in the glass. The man Richard is holding in his arms is dressed in Clark Kent’s clothes. If he wore glasses he’d be the spitting image of Clark Kent. But he’s not Clark Kent after all.

Richard absorbs this information with a kind of detachment, apart from surprise. This man is not an intrepid reporter, bumbling spiller of coffees, and Richard White’s friend. 

The blue eyes meet his in the glass. The expression in them is pleading.

“Lo…Ri…”

With a kind of horror, Richard realizes he’s trying to speak. And he knows that if he hears that voice, if he has to hear the excuses or lies Clark will come up with, he’ll fall apart. He’ll yell or scream, or make wild accusations. He just can’t hear it right now.

“Shh,” he says, cutting Superman off. His hand about Superman’s chest keeps holding the man upright, enabling the passage of air through his tortured airways.  “Don’t try to talk. Just breathe...” 


	4. Chapter 4

An ambulance is out of the question. But they can’t just leave Superman alone in his apartment. Richard would like to punch him for romancing his fiancee while pretending to be his friend, and judging from the tight look about Lois’ jaw, she wants to slap him for all those years of lying and deceit. But they can’t get those things if the man’s dead.

So.

Once Cl –Superman’s coughing has calmed somewhat, Lois grabs his glasses and shoves them on his face with more force than is strictly necessary. She and Richard each drape an arm about their shoulders and help Superman out the door and down the stairs.

“Oh my.” An old lady says from her doorway. “Clark, dear, are you alright?”

Richard’s face is tight with the effort of not snapping ‘ _his name’s not Clark_.’ Somehow he manages a pleasant smile.

“He’s not well, ma’am. We think it’s best he stay at our house for a few days.”

“Yes, of course. It’s lucky he has friends like you.”

Through sheer effort of will, Richard’s smile doesn’t falter. Between them, he and Lois get Superman down the stairs and into the backseat of the car. Lois climbs in with him, holding him upright when they go around corners. Richard drives, glancing every so often in the rear vision mirror at the man that an hour ago was his friend. It’s odd how Richard hates him more for that deception than for the adulterous romancing on rooftops and deep, longing looks exchanged when Richard’s not supposed to be watching.

“She’s right,” Superman manages.

“About what?” Lois says. Her voice is sharp as she lays a gentle hand against his forehead.

“About being lucky to have friends…” He breaks off into a fit of coughing and never manages to finish.

Richard’s phone goes off just as they arrive at the Riverside house. It’s Perry. Richard presses the ‘ _answer’_ button as he gets out of the car.

“Hello, Perry.”

“Where the hell are you, Richard?” His uncle’s belligerant voice is in full swing. “I’ve got an international section without an editor and a front page without my star reporter.”

“Perry, look I’m sorry…”

Richard grabs Clark when he stumbles getting out of the car. _Superman_ , Richard reminds himself sharply. Between them, he and Lois manage to get Superman up the path to the front door.

“I don’t want sorry,” Perry is saying. “I want some damn work done.”

“Look, you’ll have to get someone to fill in today. Maybe Kat – ”

“ _Fill in_?” There’s an indrawn breath as his uncle prepares a tirade.

“Clark’s sick.” Forcing the name out is difficult, and Perry reads a different emotion into it altogether. Or maybe not so different. Richard doesn’t want the guy _dead_ , after all. Maybe smacked around with a few bars of kryptonite, or caught in a nuclear blast or two, but not _dead_.

Perry’s voice is quieter when he speaks next.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“He’s going to be fine,” Richard says. He says it firmly, refusing to let doubt waver his voice. Something angry and sour sticks in his throat when Superman has to sit down whilst Lois unlocks the front door. “Look, Perry. I have to go. I’ll call you back tonight.”

He hangs up before Perry can protest and kneels down beside Superman.

“Lets get you on your feet, huh?” He says. He tells himself that it’s pity, not dread, that makes his voice softer.

Superman looks up and nods slowly. Those clear blue eyes are much easier to read without the glasses. He looks chastened and miserable, like Jason after he’s done something wrong.

_Oh god, Jason_. Yet another issue a mile deep and wide between them.

“C’mon.” Richard gets one arm beneath Superman’s. “Up we go…”


	5. Chapter 5

They put him in the guest room. Lois suggests it ‘because of all the windows.’ That confuses Richard until she reminds him that Superman gets his power from the sun. Sunlight might help where modern medicine fails – god knows the hospital hadn’t done any good the last time he was sick.

He seems a little better. At the very least, he seems to breathe easier once he’s in direct sunlight. They lay him out on the bed and Richard pull his shoes off, finds a set of familiar red boots underneath, and takes them off too. Lois starts unbuttoning his shirt in a business like manner. Superman raises his head, and there’s a confused look on his face.

“You need to expose as much skin to sunlight as possible,” Lois tells him. She raises an eyebrow and her tone is very dry when she says: “What, worried for your virtue? You needn’t be.”

Richard would take a lot more satisfaction out of the wounded, hurt look on Superman’s face if it didn’t remind him so much of Clark. He hates Superman right then, even more than when Lois told him Jason’s true parentage. In a way, that hadn’t been unexpected. Part of Richard had always been expecting to deal with Jason’s biological father one day. He’d just been surprised by the who. This is a different, more intimate betrayal. _Why couldn’t you be someone else?_ He thinks. _Why did you have to be someone I liked?_  

When Lois unbuttons the shirt further, there’s red and blue spandex underneath. Small wonder that Clark always wore long sleeved shirts and high collars. It wasn’t bad fashion sense after all, just another piece of his facade. Lois pulls the cotton shirt over Superman’s head and taps the shield with one finger.

“This will have to come off too,” she says.

“I can’t,” Superman says.

“Really?” Lois says. “Because I seem to remember otherwise.”

There’s nothing remotely flirtatious about her dry tone, and colour rises in Superman’s cheeks. 

“I mean – what if someone needs my help and I have to – ”

“Crawl out the door?” Lois supplies helpfully. “Because that’s the only way you’re getting there.”

Superman’s jaw tightens, and Richard realizes he’s suppressing anger. Lois’ needling has gotten under his skin. Anger is such a foreign emotion on Clark’s face, more at home on Superman.

“I know you’re upset, Lois – ”

“Upset?” Lois’ voice rises, then settles back into that carefully controlled tone. “Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it, _Clark_.”

They’re staring at one another, and Richard drops his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see what’s passing between them. He unbuckles Superman’s belt with short, vicious tugs.

“Lift up,” he says. “I’ll get your pants off.” He takes petty satisfaction at Superman’s mortification when Richard meets his eyes, adding: “And that wasn’t a come on either.”

* * *

 

There’s a therapeutic kind of symbolism in getting the spandex off. Richard and Lois put it up high in the closet where Jason won’t find it, along with the red boots. Underneath the spandex, Superman’s skin is startlingly smooth and pale, without freckles or spot. 

_Inhuman_ , Richard thinks. Without thinking, he lays his hand against the pale skin. It is a few degrees above normal, which he knows from Lois is normal. There is also an odd texture to the skin. Not tough, exactly. Not unpleasant either, just different. Richard wonders why he didn’t notice it before, but maybe he just wasn’t looking for it. It’s not as if he went around groping his co-workers.

Superman’s whole body jerks as he begins coughing, and Richard snatches his hand away, embarrassed and oddly ashamed. Superman might be an alien – and a lying, deceiving, dirty, rotten _traitor_ – but it would be unforgivably rude to just start poking and prodding as if he was a piece of meat.

“Are you okay?” Richard asks. Superman manages to nod as he coughs, face turned away from Richard. The back of his neck is bright red and Richard abruptly realizes he’s embarrassed by his nudity. At least some of those small-town values weren’t faked then.

Richard tugs the sheets of the bed up over Superman. They’re white, which should allow sunlight through whilst allowing Clark his modesty. Clark clutches it about him as he coughs. Richard waits, but there are no red flecks this time, and the coughing fit only lasts a minute or so.

“I’ll be downstairs,” Richard says. “Do you need anything?”

“W… water would be nice.”

Richard nods.

“I’ll get you a glass.”

He goes to leave.

“Richard?”

He turns back and regards the alien with a blank, neutral expression.

“Yes?”

Superman opens his mouth to say something, then seems to think the better of it.

“Nevermind.”

Richard shrugs and leaves.

Downstairs, Lois is standing over the sink, shoulders hunched. He can see that she’s been crying. There is something lodged in his throat, and he has the twin thoughts that maybe this will make it easier for her to leave him now, or perhaps this will mean she might not leave him after all.

He opens his mouth to say something comforting and what comes out instead is:

“He asked for water.”

Lois looks up with a sniff. She wipes at her eyes quickly.

“I’ll get it.”

She opens a cupboard door to get out a glass, and fills it at the tap.

“Did you know?” She asks abruptly.

The question is so unexpected, his expression must have spoken for itself. She gives him a small apologetic smile.

“I had to ask.”

“Why would you think that?” Richard asks.

“Because you didn’t seem overly surprised. Because you were such good friends with Clark. I thought that… maybe…” She trailed off.

“I didn’t know,” Richard says quietly. “I guess I wasn’t surprised because… it made sense.”

Lois nods.

“Yeah,” she says bitterly. “ _Too_ much sense.”

 “It’s not your fault, you know,” Richard says. “It’s not like we expect the people we l… it’s not like we expect the people closest to us to be lying to us everyday. We trust them.”

“So what are we going to do?” Lois says heavily.

“I don’t know. Being mad at him seems a good start –”

“I meant about the kryptonite.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I was thinking we talk to S.T.A.R labs like we were going to. Even if they couldn’t do much last time, they might have some suggestions. And I should interview the guy who threw the kryptonite at Superman in the first place. If he can tell us where he got it from – ”

“That still doesn’t solve the problem of Superman coughing up blood in our spare room.” He feels ashamed of his bluntness when she takes a breath, clearly struggling not to snap, and says with commendable patience:

“It’s something to think about for the future. If we can stop the supply of kryptonite, there’s less chance of him being exposed again. Or Jason.”

Richard feels ashamed of being so snide. Usually she’s the one to snap, and he’s the one to smooth things over and be reasonable. Maybe he’s more agitated at Superman’s deception. Or maybe this is just Lois’ way of coping, by throwing herself into the story.

“Do you want me to call the warden, see if I can arrange an interview?” He asks and knows it’s the right thing to say by the way her shoulders relax.

“If you can. Try and schedule it for tomorrow. At least one of us should be in the house with him.” She glances at her watch. “And I’m really, really late with S.T.A.R. Will you – ?”

“We’ll be fine.” He kisses her forehead. “Go. Save the world.”

Her heels click on the tiles as she walks out of the house. That just leaves Richard and Cl– _Superman_ alone in the house. And Jason, when he gets home.

Jason, damn.

Richard rings Perry back to ask him if he can take Jason for a few days. Perry has always considered Jason like his own grandson, despite there being no blood relation between them. Considering what Richard’s cousins are like, Jason – and any other children he and Lois might have – are the closest Perry ever will get to grandchildren.

“It’s just that I’ve got Clark in the guest room, and he’s really sick, and Lois and I don’t want Jason catching it…”

“Of course. Alice will be delighted to have the boy over. Shall I pick him up from school?”

Richard hangs up with the relieved knowledge that Jason’s taken care of for the next couple of days.

Then he remembers that Superman had asked for water, and Lois had left that glass of water on the bench. He takes it upstairs, but Superman has already fallen into an exhausted sleep, cheeks flushed from the exertion of coughing. This way, he looks human. Like Clark.

Richard stands in the doorway and watches him sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

Lois snaps the nicotine gum between her teeth as she glares at the wall of the S.T.A.R. labs’ waiting room. Her foot jiggles against the chair leg.

She’s dying for a cigarette to calm her nerves, but she’s been trying to quit since Kal– Clark – _Superman_ was in hospital (these different names are going to do her head in). It had been like this little deal between herself and the universe; ‘if I stop smoking, then you will make sure he wakes up and pitches in with Jason, because god knows Richard and I can’t do this by ourselves’. Then after he woke up, the deal morphed into ‘if I continue to _keep_ from smoking, you’ll continue to make sure he sticks around’, because god knows Superman doesn’t have a good track record with reliability.

Then the truth about Superman and Clark came out, and she hasn’t the slightest clue whether if the universe is giving her what she asked for or giving her the finger.

“Miss Lane?” The receptionist has to repeat her name before Lois registers. “Dr Klein will see you now.”

“Thanks.” Lois stands, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Is he still third door on the left?”

“Second to the right. The one with the scorch marks.”

“Thanks.”

Lois heads down the corridor. There’s been renovations; the walls have been painted over and new tiles put in. It looks nice, like they’ve been getting better funding.

Dr Klein’s office is the same as ever; filled with clutter and random objects that look suspiciously like they should be in a laboratory somewhere. Lois tears her eyes from a glass jar holding a suspicious bubbling blue liquid and says:

“Dr Klein?”

“Lois!” Dr Klein pushes back from his computer to shake her hand. He’s barely changed; still with those glasses that give him a perpetually startled look and a bald patch that might be a little bit more bald than the last time they met. “Lovely to see you. My word, it’s been a while. Almost–?”

“Six years next month. Just after Superman disappeared.”

“Has it been that long? I should really get started on pulling those phylographium samples out of storage….” His mind seems to wander, but Lois takes no offence. It’s just Klein’s way. She’s always thought it must be very interesting in his head, what with how he gets sidetracked by random thoughts. It finally wanders back when he notices she’s still standing. “Well make yourself at home. Sit, sit. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No thanks.” Lois pulls up the spare chair and sits down, bag on her lap. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. Yourself?”

“Engaged. I have a son now.”

“How nice. I’d suggest introducing him to my son, except mine grew up a long time ago.”

“You have a son?” She realizes how that must sound. “I mean, you never mentioned him.”

“Well, yes. Not much call to talk about him at work, and you and Mr Kent were always so busy, trying to solve the next mystery. How is Clark, by the way?”

Her throat tightens, thinking of how pale and vulnerable Superman – Clark – had looked without his suit.

“Down with the flu,” she says with a lightness she doesn’t feel. “I’m here about what happened on the news.”

“That business with the kryptonite? Terrible, terrible. I suppose Superman’s somewhere, sleeping it off.”

“You think that’s all he’ll need?” She hopes it doesn’t sound too much like a leading question, but Dr Klein doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, I hope so.” His voice takes on that familiar lecturing tone. “There’s really no way to be certain. Superman’s biology is so unique, and we’ve never really understood kyrponite. That last time for example was particularly troubling. We were never sure whether it was the intensity or the length of the exposure that did him in, or the fall, or a combination of all three. He was able to function long enough to lift the island, so plainly it wasn’t an instant depletion of his powers…”

He seems to be going on a tangent and Lois interrupts with:

“So there’s no way to be sure if this time will be better or worse?”

“Not without a more in-depth examination.  You see, the lungs are such an essential organ for both humans and kryptonians, and his lungs are where the kryptonite went. We’ve theorised that kryptonians had different lungs to us, capable of storing air for long periods of time, the same way as a dolphin or a whale can, which would explain why he’s able to last so long without readily available oxygen, and possibly tie into his so called ‘ice-breath’. But the principle is the same. We all require oxygen, and once that supply is damaged…” Klein shakes his head.

Lois’ mind darts to the blood on Clark’s living room floor. It had been on his mouth too; a light red spray that smeared when he lifted a sleeve to wipe it away, and for a second she had been able to see the kid he must have been, baffled and confused by something that could actually hurt him…

“But I’m sure you’re not here to listen to me rattle on,” Dr Klein says. “What kind of article are you writing?”

“Kind of a… human interest one.” She fishes out her notebook. “Say, if the average citizen were to find Superman and he was hurt by kryptonite, how would they go about helping him?”

“Take him to a hospital, of course. After what happened last time, all American hospitals have been updated with knowledge on how to treat him.”

“What if he didn’t want to go?”

“Well, that’s tricky. I suppose there would be no real way to force him. But medically, a hospital would be the best option. The kryptonian body is so unfamiliar, even the most qualified people have difficulty knowing what to do.”

“There must be something we can do.”

“I don’t know. In any case, I’m sure if Superman would go to a hospital if he needed it–”

“Say he didn’t.”

Lois’ voice comes out a little sharper than she intended.

Klein pauses there, looking at her, and she fights to keep the guilty blush from her cheeks. Had he become more perceptive over the past six years, or had she just not noticed before?

He starts to say something, stops, and then says carefully:

“This is all…theoretical?”

“Yes.” Lois’ fingers dig into the notepad.

Dr Klein stands up.

“Come with me.” 

* * *

Dr Klein practically runs through the labs. If Lois weren’t used to running in heels, she’d never keep up. He shoves through several doors, past a startled scientist with a snapped “Not now, Emil”, and makes a beeline for an office with the name Swann embossed on the door in gleaming gold letters.

A woman with neatly pinned red hair jumps as the door bangs open.

“Klein, you scared the life out of me!” She kneels to pick up the folders she dropped. “If it’s about that microscope again, Emil’s just asked me –”

Dr Klein interrupts with: 

“Patricia, this is Lois Lane.”

“Superman’s reporter?” Patricia stands, balancing the folders on her hip, smiling distractedly at Lois. “Nice to meet you. Are you writing a story on Superman?" 

“Patricia," Dr Klein says before Lois can say anything. "Lois has some _theoretical_ questions about what could be done for Superman after the attack this morning. What she would need, _theoretically_ , to help him.”

Dr Klein looks at Patricia meaningfully, and she frowns back at him.

Then it suddenly clicks and her eyes widen. The folders drop unnoticed with a dusty thump.

“You – oh!” She lunges forward to shake Lois’ hand. “I’m Dr Patricia Swann. Geneticist.”

“Pleasure.” Lois manages to extract her hand with difficulty. Dr Klein says: 

“Dr Swann is our resident kryptonian expert.”

“As much as anyone is apart from Superman,” Patricia says. “All we have to work with is observation and a few cells. Still, we can make some educated guesses. I’m assuming hospital is out of the question?”

“Yes.” Lois says, and adds pointlessly: “I'm writing about a hypothetical situation, if he didn’t want to go to hospital.”

“I see, I see. That’s – I didn’t think of that. Let me just –”

Patricia hurries off into the stacks.

“She’s a little over-involved in her work,” Dr Klein says apologetically, which is hilarious coming from him. “She’s very good at what she does, though – and very trustworthy. She worked with the doctors treating Superman when he was in hospital.”

“That’s… good.” Lois is trying to remember where she heard the name Swann before. “Wasn’t she the one who discovered the remains of Krypton?”

“That was her father, Virgil Swann. He specialises in astronomy and the space sciences. Brilliant man; I’ll introduce you later if you–”

“You’ll need this!” Patricia emerges, carrying a machine that looks like a projector. She grabs a box of files from the desk and upends it, spilling paper on the floor, then shoves the machine inside. “It’s a solar lamp – natural sunlight is best, but his condition deteriorates at night. When he was on hospital, we kept him under a lamp all night. The main thing to remember is to work with his body, not against it. His body is very good at fixing itself if you supply its needs.” She pauses a beat and adds hastily: “I mean, theoretically, if you were the one helping him.”

“Right.” Lois nods. “What if he were having trouble breathing?”

“From inhaling the kryptonite? You’ll need an oxygen tank.”

“There’s some spares in the dispensary,” Dr Klein says. “I’ll get them. We’d probably also need some painkillers –”

“Good thinking. Would some saline solution be amiss, in case any kryptonite went in his eyes?”

“A very sound idea. What about the temperature drops? How did we deal with those…?”

Lois almost feels superfluous, standing back and watching as the two scientists fill the box with pill bottles and equipment. It strikes her suddenly how desperately they must have been working last time to help an alien they knew virtually nothing about. If it had gone wrong, they would have been villified by the media. But when they succeeded, it wasn't their names in the paper. Lois makes a private vow to change that, once this is all over. She'll write a big piece about the people whose effors saved Superman, and not just the scientiests, but the doctors and the nurses who had him in their care. And the police officers who had stood watch over his body while waiting for the ambulance, and paramedics who kept him alive until they go to the ER...

“Thank you,” Lois says with utter sincerity in the waiting room, the box heavy in her arms as she says her good-byes. “You don’t know what his means to us – to me, I mean.”

“You’re sure you don’t need us to come with you?” Patricia says, eyes beseeching like a little girl being told she couldn’t go on the Ferris wheel. “To help with-”

“The story, no. I'm sure we can manage.” Lois shifts the box from arm to arm, conscious of the receptionist pretending not to listen in. 

“Call us if you change your mind.” Klein tucks two business cards into the box. “Or if you have nay questions. Any time of the day or night. And let us know how it turns out.”

He pauses a beat, eyes anxious behind his glasses, then adds:

“And Lois, hypothetically…the kryptonite in his lungs is very bad. If the, ah, average citizen could convince him to go to a hospital, I’d recommend it very strongly.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr Klein has been stolen from 'The New Adventures of Lois and Clark' and Patricia Swann (or a version of her) has been taken from Smallville.


	7. Chapter 7

The traffic is sluggish on the drive home, and Lois keeps one eye on the darkening sky, conscious of what Dr Swann said about Superman worsening at night.

“Come on!” She honks at one guy who’s too slow to take a green light and switches on the radio.

_“…a wave of crime has washed over Metropolis, following the absence of the city’s beloved superhero. Many fear Superman was more injured by the attack on him this morning than indicated. Authorities have refused to comment…”_

She switches it back off. 

* * *

Richard is waiting for her when she gets home. Between them, they lug the box upstairs. Superman looks worse, pale and curled in a tangle of blankets, breath catching in erratic bursts of coughing.

“He started shivering around sunset,” Richard says, tucking an errant corner of blanket over Superman’s exposed foot. “So I just piled blankets on him.”

There are flecks of blood on the pillow and Lois’ throat tightens as she leans over the bed.

“Cl –” Damn, what to call him? Calling him Superman seems ridiculously impersonal now, but Clark makes her irrationally angry.

There was another name he’d given her, years ago during their first interview. She’s never used it, because (and she’d set herself on fire before admitting this) she’d been kind of intimidated at calling the alien superhero by his first name. She tries it out now.

“Kal?” See that wasn’t so hard. She clears her throat and says it more confidently. “Kal-El?”

His eyes flicker open. Every time she’s surprised by the blue of his eyes; a deep piercing colour that’s not quite human in its shade. How the hell had she not noticed them staring at her from across the newsroom everyday?

“Lois.” His voice is hoarse from coughing.

“How are you feeling?” She asks quietly. Not gently. Definitely not gently. His behaviour doesn’t warrant gently.

He considers the question, forehead wrinkling faintly in a way that reminds her of Jason when he bites into a vegetable.

“Tired. Sick.”

“Okay.” Her hand goes to smooths back his hair and she snatches it back in time. “Richard and I are going to set up the solar lamp. You should feel better soon.”

 “I could –” The moron actually tries to sit up.

“Lie down,” she snaps. “You think you’ll be any good to us fumbling around? Stay there out of the way.”

He subsides, looking like kicked puppy and she regrets speaking so harshly.

For about half a second. Then she’s fine with it.  

It takes a few minutes and a Google search on Richard’s smart phone to work out how to hook up the solar lamp. But once it’s on, colour immediately starts returning to Kal’s face. Lois unpeels the cocoon of blankets, baring his skin to the solar lamp. He’s still shivering, so Richad gets the heatpacks from the box and tucks them against Kal’s sides and feet.

“This was what they did in hospital,” Lois says as she props Kal up on a pile of pillows. “Klein says you lost too much heat when they were trying to recharge you, so they rotated heat-packs to keep you stable.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Obviously, what with the coma and all.” This comes from Richard, not Lois. “I’m going to make dinner,” he says, straightening from where he’d been kneeling, fiddling with the lamp controls. “Kal, do you want any?” The name sounds awkward, like he’s following Lois’ lead and trying it out.

Kal shakes his head mutely, giving another rasping cough.

“You sure? Might do you some good.”

“Haven’t been able to…” Another cough. “Keep it down.”

“How about I make you some, and if you feel like eating, you can. It’s no big deal if you can’t keep it down.” Richard’s voice is as matter-of-fact as it was sharp earlier. He’s got the right idea, Lois thinks. Be calm about Kal being sick, and pissed off as hell about everything else.

Kal nods cautiously.

“Okay.”

Before he goes, Richard glances at Lois, who’s still trying to work out the oxygen tank.

“Need a hand?”

“No, I’ve got this. Klein’s handwriting is just awful. Couldn’t he write clearer instructions?” She remembered him having quite clear handwriting six years ago – then again he’d been very excited when he was writing all this down, so maybe she should just be glad it was even slightly legible.

“Okay, call me if you need anything.”

Richard’s footsteps retreat down the stairs and it occurs to Lois that Richard might have been trying to subtly hint that he didn't want to leave his fiancee alone with her ex, but it's too late to do anything about it now.

“He’s a good man,” Kal says quietly, an almost a perfect echo of what she said to him months ago.

“You have absolutely no right to approve or disapprove my life choices.” Lois finally gets the mask attached and fits it over Kal’s face.

“I’m just–”

“You should be quiet. You’ll get more air that way.”

She fiddles around with the box until she can look at him without giving into the urge to throttle him. When she stands up, his eyes are closed like he’s fallen into a light doze. His lips are curved down in a small frown behind the mask and his face is flushed with colour, which might be from coughing or the effects of the solar lamp. It’s a strange sight to Lois, like something familiar sight viewed from an unfamiliar angle, and it takes her a moment to name what it is she’s seeing.

Vulnerability.

She’d thought she’d seen Superman vulnerable before, when he was poisoned with kryptonite or when she’d dragged him half-drowned and weak as a kitten from the ocean. Now she realises that all those times didn’t even close. She’d never seen him exposed or unguarded, or anything except what he wanted her to see.

How much of Superman had she been in love with that was also Clark? And how much was an idea she’d made up in her head?

She covers her eyes with her hand. She isn’t crying. She isn’t. She’s humiliated and _furious_ , that the man she’d imagined herself in love with doesn’t exist. That he’d stood right next to her everyday, pretending to be someone else, and she’d never even noticed. Had he really thought she was that stupid? Or had he been waiting for her to work it out, in some kind of perverse test? Was Clark an act that Superman put on, or was Superman the mask? Or were they two separate personalities, like some sort of alien skitzophrenia? Maybe this was normal for kryptonians. Maybe this is some bizarre courtship ritual that she keeps missing the steps of.

“I’m sorry.” Superman’s voice is so soft she can barely hear him.  

“You’re a bastard,” she says, wiping water from her eyes. “An absolute son of a bitch. I forgave the amnesia thing, and that’s not a small thing, making me forget we had sex. We talked about it. We were okay. Then I find out you’re still lying.”

“Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s not about wanting to hurt someone. It’s about making choices for people they don’t even know are being made. It’s about acting like a fucking god, when we need you to be a man.”

“I’m not a man.”

Kal’s eyes are clear blue and stubborn with certainty. Rage tastes sharp at the back of Lois throat.

“Grow up,” she snaps, and walks out. 

* * *

Downstairs in the kitchen, Richard glances up as Lois storms in.  

“Everything okay?” He says. 

“Fine.”

She starts chopping salad, signalling she doesn’t want to talk about it. 


	8. Chapter 8

They eat in the bedroom, because there’s no way Kal (Richard’s still getting the hang of this new name) can get downstairs on his own right now, and carrying him would be impossible.

The solar lamp has put a bit more colour in Kal’s face and he insists he feels well enough to try sitting up and feeding himself. Richard’s doubtful, but doesn’t say anything; the tension in the room is thick enough without adding to it.

Lois has already laid claim to the only chair, dragging it over by the door and eating from the plate perched in her lap while listening to the newscasts on the alarm clock radio. She’s still not talking to Kal, apparently still pissed at him for whatever he said to her earlier. Richard ends up sitting on the side of the bed, eating his own meal while watching Kal try to balance a plate on his lap.

“Where’s Jason?” Kal asks eventually, picking at the lemon chicken.

“At Perry’s.”

“Ah. What have you told him?”

“Perry?” Richard says, deliberately misunderstanding the question. “Just that you’re down with the flu, and you’re staying with us. If he drops by, put your glasses on and look pathetic.”

“I meant Jason.”

“Nothing. I thought that springing the secret identity of his biological father on him on the same day said biological father is dangerously ill is a bit much for a six year old.”

“Mmm.” Kal humms non-committally, stirring mashed potatoes into the sauce.

For the record, Kal’s as lousy a liar as Clark ever was.

“Kal,” Richard says. “Does Jason know who you are?”

“No!” Kal’s pale skin turns red again. “I mean, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think or you don’t know?”

“He might… suspect?” At Richard’s look, he elaborates: “He’s given me some funny looks as Clark.”

“Right.” Richard puts his fork down and rubs the bridge of his nose. So now he has to talk to Jason about dual identities and people two (make that three) names. This on top of the talks they’ve already given him about biology and having more than one father.

Honestly, with all the talks they’ve been giving him recently, the birds and the bees are going to be a breeze.

“I could –” Kal starts.

“Seriously, Kal. Just – don’t, alright.”

“Sorry.”

They lapse into silence, the only sound the murmur of the news presenters’ voice on the radio.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Kal who breaks the silence:

“So why Kal?”

Richard pauses, fork poised in mid-air.

“Lois picked it,” he says. “It’s your name, isn’t it? Your kryptonian name?”

“Yes, I’m just not used to hearing it.”

Richard thinks of how much he hates the nickname ‘Dick’ and decides he can cut Kal a break on this one.

“Is there something else you’d prefer?”

Kal blinks, thinking about it.

“No. It’s kind of nice, actually. Different, but nice.”

His small smile makes Richard duck his eyes and look back down at his plate. He’s relieved to keep using ‘Kal’ – the distinction of this person who’s an unsettling amalgamation of Clark and Superman is a small but important one – but uneasy for reasons he can’t quite put his finger on.

He’s still pissed at Kal. A lot. But that’s an emotion he knows what to do with. This small moment of intimacy is something outside that, like having a private discussion with Clark while Superman is looking over your shoulder. All the old boundaries have been knocked over and they’ve all yet to establish new ones. God only knows what shape they’ll take.

There’s a clink as Kal puts his fork down. His hand is shaking.

“I can’t,” he says.

“Not hungry?” Richard says, hiding his concern; Kal has only eaten a few mouthfuls.

“Yes, I just – it’s too hard.”

Too hard to lift his hand to his mouth. And this is improvement.

Richard puts his own plate down and moves up the bed so he can take the fork off Kal. He scoops up some mashed potatoes and feeds it to Kal, who looks somewhere between grateful and humiliated.

Richard wonders if they shouldn’t call Lois’ scientist friends, no matter what Kal says. What the hell do he and Lois know about helping an alien? They’re as likely to kill him by accident as help him.

“I’ll be fine,” Kal says, reading him with an unnerving accuracy like Superman’s. “I just need time, that’s all. My body is working through it already.”

“It wasn’t doing it last time.”

“I’d expended too much energy already. I didn’t have anything to fall back on.”

“If you say so.” Richard feeds him some beans to stop him talking. Mentally he adds being an irresponsible idiot to the reasons he’s pissed off with Kal.

Lois abruptly turns off the radio and pulls the chair closer to the bed.

“So I’ve been thinking,” she announces. “And I don’t think that kryptonite attack was random.”

Richard and Kal both pause.

“Lois, I agree,” Kal says. “Why else would anyone be carrying kryptonite? It’s almost useless for anything else.”

Richard notes he qualified ‘almost’ and makes a mental note to follow up on that later.

“No, you don’t get it.” Lois has that fire in her eyes, the gleeful look of knowledge assembled. “I’ve been listening to news reports all night, and in the past two hours there have been two bank robberies, three heists and one apartment fire. That’s a lot for Metropolis, and they all just happen to fall on the same night Superman is put down with kryptonite?”

“It wasn’t a precaution,” Richard says, understanding. “It was planned.”

“You’re sure?” Kal says.

“Very. All these crimes are in areas known to have regular Superman sightings. I mean, that’s just stupid – unless you know the big guy’s not going to be around.”

Richard taps his lip, running through Lois’ logic and finding it seamless.

“Who do you think’s behind it?” He says. “Luthor?”

Lois shrugs, making a so-so gesture.

“I thought so, because of the processed kryptonite. But Luthor doesn’t have the kinds of contacts to arrange this – not in Metropolis, not since that earthquake of his killed Alba Trepani.”

Alba Trepani had been the daughter of one of Metropolis’ biggest crime bosses, niece of another, and god daughter to a third. To say that Metropolis’ criminal underbelly wasn’t a healthy environment for Luthor would be like saying that sticking your foot in a crocodile’s mouth was probably not a good idea.

“Besides,” Lois adds. “This scheme? Supplying kryptonite to criminals and letting them take the risk of facing Superman? It’s too…” She snaps her fingers, looking for a word. “…Practical.”

Richard looks to Kal, who shrugs.

“She has a point. Luthor’s nothing if not melodramatic.” He coughs into his fist and adds: “Every time he’s tried to kill me, he’s done it himself, or been there to watch.”

So one thousand and seventy-one people died because of an aging sociopath with diva tendencies. Richard didn’t think he could despise Luthor more, but there you go.

“It doesn’t mean Luthor’s not behind this,” Richard points out. “He could be working with someone.”

“Luthor doesn’t work _with_ people. His ego’s too big for that.”

“So maybe someone’s contracting out. Maybe Luthor’s just the supplier and this is someone else’s scheme altogether. Maybe –”

Kal coughs suddenly, and Richard pauses.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Kal fumbles for the mask, holds it too his mouth. “Just feel a little… whoozy.”

Richard touches his arm and swears.

“Lois, he’s freezing.”

“The temperature drops.” Lois is there a second later, putting the plates aside and laying a hand on Kal’s forehead. “Klein said this might happen. Where are the rest of the heat packs?”

“Over in the cupboard.” Richard goes to get some. On returning, he sees the problem; Klein and Swann only gave them ten heat packs, and they need to last the whole night. But they’re not that big, so each one can only heat one part of Kal’s body at time, while heat is leeching off elsewhere.

Lois must see it at the same time he does, because she starts unbuttoning her blouse.

“Get undressed,” she tells Richard, and Kal lifts his head, giving her a bleary look that is also faintly horrified.

“Why?” He says, but Richard is already seeing where Lois is going with this and taking off his shoes.

“Body heat,” he tells Kal. “Classic survival technique.”

He takes off his shirt and trousers, figuring skin-to-skin contact will work best, but leaves his boxer shorts on, so he and Kal can look each other in the eye tomorrow. Lois has stripped down to her bra and panties and has climbed up onto the bed, settling against Kal’s side to warm as much of him as possible. There’s no blushing or hesitation from her, and somehow that defuses any sense of jealousy or embarrassment Richard might have felt. Just another treatment.

He climbs up onto the bed and rearranges the blankets so he’s pressed against Kal’s side. He’s bigger than Lois, so he can cover more area. Kal’s skin is cold, alien to his skin and Richard wants to squirm away. He makes himself wriggle closer, freeing an arm to lay it over Kal’s chest. Lois has Kal’s left hand cupped between hers and is blowing warm air through his fingers. Richard’s not sure if he’s okay with that. It’s not a sexual gesture; he’s seen Lois do the same thing for Jason when his hands are cold. It’s the… the intimacy of the gesture that bothers Richard. Like when he was discussing names with Kal, it’s a closeness that he’s not sure Kal deserves or can be trusted with. Just look at the mess he’s made of everything so far.

But…. Kal’s hands are pretty cold, and Richard had read somewhere that circulation is worst in the outer extremities…

Feeling like he’s doing something irreversible, Richard finds Kal’s other hand and starts chafing it between his own, generating friction.

“Can we pull the blankets up?” Kal asks, wheezing through the mask.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Richard says. “The solar lamp needs to reach your skin.”

“Rao, it’s cold…” Kal’s trails off into another language Richard doesn’t understand, eyes drifting shut.

“Kal?” He lifts his head. “Clark?”

“’m fine. Just cold.”

“Okay.” Lois rests her cheek on his shoulder. Her voice is gentle. “Just try not to go to sleep, okay? You have to stay awake.”

“’kay.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was watching trailers for the new X-Men movie on Youtube and I got inspired. No idea why. Brian Singer just does things to my brain.

Kal’s temperature drops alarmingly over the next hour. Lois and Richard spend most of their time rubbing his chilled feet and hands to get some warmth back. If it wouldn’t have taken him away from the solar lamp, they’d have put him in the shower and cranked up the heat. Kal drifts in and out, words slurred and spaced out like he’s drunk. It would be funny if it weren’t so worrying.

Then, about an hour after the initial drop in temperature, it reverses suddenly in the other direction. Suddenly he’s far too warm, beyond even what Lois knows to be normal for him. He kicks off the sheets fretfully, pushing away the heat packs as he tries to sit up.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he says, and Lois dashes to their ensuite to fetch the metal bin, shoving it into his lap just in time. He brings up the remains of the lemon chicken, which he apologises miserably for while hunched dry-heaving over the bin.

“Don’t worry about it,” Richard says. “We knew it might happen, remember.” He touches Kal’s shoulder, then frowns. “Lois, can you come look at this?”

“Look at what?”

“Kal’s sweat – it’s green.”

Richard’s right. Kal has broken out into a sudden sweat, but there’s a distinct green tinge, standing out very obviously on Kal’s pale skin.

“It’s kryptonite,” she says. “Has to be.”

“Maybe this is how his body gets rid of it. Maybe it’s a good sign.”

“Dr Klein’s instructions didn’t say anything about this.”

“Last time Kal hadn’t ingested or breathed any of it in.” Richard gets off the bed. “I’m getting a flannel. It can’t be doing him any good sticking to him.”

They spend the next hour wiping him down continuously, as the kryptonite steadily works its way out. Kal protests weakly, but modesty eventually takes a back seat to nausea. Klein’s instructions don’t say anything about ways to combat that, and Lois is wary of giving Kal any human medicine right now.

Eventually it levels out and Lois is hopeful that he might be getting better, only his temperature immediately drops again and he starts shivering.

“I hope this back and forth doesn’t last the whole night.” Richard wraps a sheet around Kal’s waist and gets an arm around his shoulders. “Lois, help me get him down to the floor.”

“He needs to be near the solar lamp.”

“If we re-angle the lamp, it will be fine. I want to change the sheets before we do anything else. That kryptonite-sweat has soaked right in and I don’t want it near Kal.”

“Ah.”

They get the spare sheets from the cupboard and re-make the bed while Kal apologises weakly from the floor. He’s shivering again, despite the heat packs they’d tucked in around him. Once they’ve gotten him onto the freshly made bed, Lois adjusts the solar lamp.

“You get in and keep him warm,” she tells Richard. “I’ll take the sheets down to the laundry.”

“I can do it,” he says quickly.

“You’re bigger than I am – you can keep him warmer. I’ll be right back.”

She picks up the pile of dirty sheets and carries it down to the laundry. What she’d really like to do is burn the whole lot, but settles for dumping it in the machine, piling powder into the receptacle and setting the whole thing for the most thorough wash possible. Once Kal’s better, she’ll throw out all the sheets and towels they’ve used. It’s too dangerous to risk even a miniscule amount of kryptonite in a house with one (two?) kryptonian residents.

Once she’s set the timer she goes back up to the bedroom where Kal is dozing under the solar lamp. Richard is curled up next to him, chafing one hand between his own.

“I think he’s getting better,” he says. “He’s stopped coughing.”

“For now.” Lois climbs up onto the bed, settling against Kal’s side, careful not to jostle him. A yawn takes her by surprise.

“You look exhausted,” Richard says. “You should get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep when he’s like this.”

“I’ll stay up and keep an eye on him.” When she continues to look doubtful he adds: “Tell you what, I’ll wake you around three am and you can take over. Okay?”

Put like that, Lois really can’t refuse. She closes her eyes and lets her head rest back against the pillow. At first she thinks she can’t possibly sleep, too many worries flying through her head; is Kal going to get better, what he expects when this is over, who is responsible for the wave of kryptonite. Then slowly her mind begins to wind down and she sinks into comfortable dreams. 

* * *

She wakes to the tinkle of breaking glass. On the border of sleeping and awake, she’s not sure if she really heard it or if it was a dream and can’t really be bothered to get up to find out. She’s comfortable and warm in the curve of Kal’s arm. Her leg has become hooked over his knee, and Richard’s arm is brushing hers where it’s flung across Kal’s chest. They’re coiled together like a trio of cats sleeping in the sun. Sleepy, comfortable cats, she thinks and smiles at the imagery, keeping her eyes closed and burying her nose against Kal’s shoulder.

But Kal is moving.

“Lois, Lois wake up.”

“Hmm?” Lois forces her eyes open, annoyed at being pulled out of her lovely dream.

That’s when she realizes that she’s a little more on top of Kal than she intended to get. She quickly untangles herself.

“Sorry.”

Richard is getting out of bed, and she thinks for a moment that he’s mad about the sleep-snuggling – which Lois finds very unfair – but he’s looking at the door, his bare shoulders tensed.

“What is it?” She says. 

“There’s someone breaking into the house,” Kal says.

“What? Are you sure?”

He nods.

“I can hear them.”

“Okay.” Richard picks up his discarded t-shirt and pulls it on. “You guys stay here, I’m going to–”

“To what?” Lois hisses. “Reason with the people breaking and entering into our house? _This_ is why I told you we needed a gun in the house.”

“You’re Superman’s reporter, Lois. You hardly need more deterrent than that.”

“He’s not much use now is he. No offence,” she adds to Kal.

“Actually –” Kal starts.

“You are not going down there, Richard, and that’s final!”

“I’m just going to take a look," Richard says in that reasonable tone of voice she hates. 

“Don’t you –” But he’s already out the door. Lois swears under her breath and grabs her discarded clothes, figuring that if there’s an intruder, there’s no way she’s meeting them in her underwear.

Kal is sitting up, pulling off the oxygen mask. Either Kryptonian adrenaline is amazing or the solar lamp did a lot of good, because he’s a lot more animated and there’s a healthy colour to his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“Is there another way out of the house?” He asks. “Other than downstairs?”

“Not unless you’re feeling well enough to fly us.” She’s not really surprised when he shakes his head. “It’s probably some punk kids breaking in. Tonight of all nights –”

Her fingers pause in buttoning up her blouse. _Tonight of all nights._

She’s out the door in a second, shoe gripped in one hand because it’s the only weapon she can think of, and if anyone doubts how much damage a stiletto can do, they’ve obviously never been to her self-defense classes.

She hears the muffled sounds of a struggle and scrambles down the stairs to where Richard is struggling with a man in dark clothes, who has a hand clamped over his mouth. Richard’s struggles are getting slow and uncoordinated, and Lois sees the white cloth being pressed to his lips.

“Richard!” She doesn’t hesitate, launching herself at the intruder. He has a moment to look up and she sees the split-second of surprise before her stiletto hits him in the neck. He swears and backhands her, knocking her into the wall so hard she sees stars.

“Bitch.” He drops Richard and leans over her, and that’s when she realises the stiletto shoe is sticking out of his neck like a bizarre accessory. She grabs it and pulls. There’s a spurt of red blood and the guy grabs frantically at his throat, trying to keep himself from bleeding out. Lois kicks him in the chest, sending him crashing down the stairs and there’s several more voices swearing in surprise.

Lois freezes. Shit. He wasn’t alone, and she just pissed off his buddies.

Then Kal is at her elbow.

“Upstairs,” he says, leaning down and grabbing one of Richard’s arms. “Lois, _come on_.”

Lois grabs Richard’s other arm and thanks god that kryptonians seem to be fast healers. Kal’s not completely recovered, but he’s walking on his own and is strong enough to help drag Richard up the stairs to the bedroom. 

Lois slams the door behind them and locks it, then drags the dresser in front.

“Now what?”

“The window.” Kal has laid Richard on the bed and is now prying at the window, fiddling with the latch.

“I thought you said you weren't well enough to fly.” Lois clambers over the bed to show Kal the trick with the latch. The window rattles up and a cool breeze from the harbor washes in.

“Not a proper flight. Do you have your car keys?”

“In my pocket. What – ”

There’s a thump as someone hits the bedroom door from the other side. Lois stops asking questions and helps Kal drag Richard onto the bed, closer to the window. Kal wraps his arms about Richard from behind, like a bear hug.

“You’ll need to hold onto me,” he tells Lois. “Get on my back.”

She clambers on, hiking her skirt up to hook her calves over his hips. His skin is warm again, and the muscles feel as steady as when he last took her flying.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” She says in his ear.

“It’s just to the ground. I should be able to do it.”

‘Should be’ is not reassuring, but criticism is not going to help any of them.

“You carried an island into space,” she says fiercely in his ear. “You can do this.”

She catches the faint curve of his smile, then feels them lifting away from the bed. She holds herself as still as possible, only moving to duck as they go out the window. Kal lowers them slowly toward the garden, and she realises this is very difficult for him, that he’s straining not to drop them too quickly. Her palms are sweating where she holds tight to Kal’s ribs, and the distance between the second floor and the ground has never seemed so far away.

She waits until they’re a few feet from the ground and lets herself drop, landing silently on the soft grass. She reaches up to take some of Richard’s weight, and Kal lets himself drop. He lands more heavily and staggers, nearly falling.

Above them, there’s a crash of the bedroom door being forced open. 

“Come on.” Lois hustles them around the side of the house, toward the driveway. Richard is starting to come to, blearily asking what happened. She shushes him when they get round to the front of the house. The intruders hadn’t left anyone on watch. Amateurs. A big black SUV is parked across the driveway but Lois had parked the car on the lawn this afternoon, not wanting to take the extra time to park in the garage.

Lois unlocks the car and Kal and Richard scramble into the backseat. She takes the driver’s side and starts the car, aware that this will alert the intruders to where they are.

“Put your seatbelts on,” she says. “Richard, I’m sorry about the fence.”

“That’s okay, honey – wait, what about the fence…”

Lois slams on the accelerator and drives through the fence, wood splintering and flying everywhere. She spins the wheel, getting them onto the road. Richard is swearing and grabbing hold of the door handle. Kal doesn’t make a sound, but she glimpses him with his eyes squeezed shut like he’s praying.

“Lois, you’re going to get pulled over!” Richard yells as they roar down the street.

“So? We’re escaping from being kidnapped and murdered! That’s a slap on the wrist.” Though come to think of it, they have Superman buck-naked in the car with them, which might be a little hard to explain. She slows down a smidgeon, checking in the rear view mirror. No one’s following them.

“I think we’re okay,” she says, heading for the express way. If anyone can follow them through that traffic, they’re welcome to try. “Everyone okay back there?”

“My head is killing me,” Richard says. “Other than that, I think I’m okay.” He’s talking a little too slow for Lois’ comfort, like he’s had a few too many drinks and has to focus to get each word out.

“We’ll stop by a 7-11 and get you some Tylenol. How about you, Kal? Kal?”

Kal is leaning over, head between his knees.

“I think I over-did it,” he says faintly.

“That’s okay, we’ll just get you under the solar lamp again and –” Lois pauses, and slams her palm against the dashboard. “Shit!”

The solar lamp is back at the house, along with her wallet and credit cards. Even her mobile is still on the kitchen bench where she left it.

“What’s wrong?” Richard says vaguely.

“Nothing.” Lois checks her blindspot and flicks her indicator to change lanes. “We’re just going to stop somewhere first.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, sorry for the wait? Here is some angst to make up for it.

Getting to Star Labs is no problem, even with Lois doubling back a few times to throw off possible pursuit. The problem is getting past the guard on the gate. Her press ID is in her bag back at the house, and the security guard won’t let them through without an appointment.

“Look, just call Dr Klein,” she says. “He’ll want to see us, trust me.”

“Ma’am if you want to talk to him, you’ll need to call during the day and make an appointment like everyone else.”

“I don’t have time!” Lois takes a breath to calm herself. “Look. I’m Lois Lane. I’m in the middle of a story that Dr Klein was helping me with, and there’s been some developments he needs to know about. Life-threatening developments!”

The guard frowns suspiciously.

“Why haven’t you called the police?”

“This is not the sort of thing the police can help with.” Lois decides to push her point. “Look, you _know_ what kind of stories I do, the person I usually help. Do you _really_ want to be the guy who let the city fall apart because he didn’t help Superman’s reporter when she needed it?”

The guard’s eyes widen and he picks up his phone.

“I’ll call Dr Klein’s office.”

“Thank you.” Lois goes back to the car, shivering a little as she gets inside and closes the door behind her.

“I don’t like this,” Kal wheezes from the backseat. At some point during the drive, he’d slumped over onto his side and now is resting with his head on Richard’s knee. All the good that the solar lamp did was drained out of him by the escape out the window.

“Do you know of anyone else who has a solar lamp?” Lois retorts. “Who knows how to help you and won’t go straight to the media?”

“I don’t –” Kal coughs painfully, that hoarse hacking sound that means blood. “I don’t like labs.”

“We can always go to a hospital,” Richard says, patting his back helpfully. “Would you be more comfortable at a hospital?” Kal shakes his head wordlessly and Lois grits her teeth, biting back the urge to tell him to make up his damn mind.

“Kal, you need help,” she says. “We can’t give it to you, so we’re going to have to go to someone who can. That’s what adults do. They ask for help when they need it.”

She feels bad when Kal coughs again, nearly retching as he struggles to draw breath. Richard murmurs reassuringly, try to get him into a more comfortable position. Lois feels a sudden, horrifically inappropriate urge for a cigarette. She bites her nails instead.

If Dr Klein isn’t in his office, she’ll just take Kal to a hospital, whatever he says. Dr Klein said hospitals were equipped to deal with Kryptonite poisoning. So either he’ll be fine. Perfectly fine.

Something taps her window and she looks up to see the guard is trying to get her attention. She rolls down the window and he tells her:

“Go on through. Dr Klein will meet you in the car park area outside reception.”

“Thank you,” Lois says, rather generously she thinks considering how long she had to argue to get him to contact Klein.

He lowers the boom gate and she drives up toward the brightly lit doors of the reception area. The speed bumps mean she has to take it slowly rather than charging up like she wants to. It’s not just Dr Klein and Dr Swann waiting; a group of scientists are huddled outside reception, as jittery as new reporters called in for their first hot scoop. Lois feels a trickle of trepidation, and in the backseat, Kal wheezes as he tries to sit up.

“Don’t –” He sucks in air. “I don’t like labs.”

This time Lois reads between the lines; what horrible nightmares must an alien child have had, growing up on earth, passing for human. What he must have expected. What he could _still_  expect in the wrong hands.

“We’ll stay with you,” she promises. “We’re not leaving you alone for a second, Kal. Not for any reason.” Not even with Dr Klein and Dr Swann; those two might be well meaning but they’re babes in woodland when it comes to real life. Lois doubts they’d recognise hostile intentions if they jumped up and bit them on the nose.

Lois stops the car, but doesn’t unlock the doors until she sees Dr Klein amidst the scientists crowding close to the passenger side. They’ve got a gurney with them and Dr Swann is holding an oxygen tank in her arms that looks way too heavy for her

“Here we go,” she tells Richard and Clark, aware that her voice doesn’t sound nearly as certain as it should. She unlocks the doors.

Really, it’s frightening how fast five pudgy scientists can get a six-hundred pound naked man out of a car, onto a gurney and have an oxygen mask on to his face. Kal’s not fighting, but she can see him straining to see her and Richard. She quickly locks the car behind them, grabs Richard by the wrist (he still seems a little dazed from the chlorform) and pulls him along after the gurney. One of the scientists tries to tell her to wait in the lobby and she tells him precisely where he can shove that idea.

“Let her come,” Dr Swann says, shoving the oxygen tank into the guy’s arms, making him stagger. “She has information about his condition we need. He’s freezing; when did this temperature drop start?” This last question is directed at Lois.

“In the car,” Lois says, pushing through the swinging doors as they pass into the corridors of Star Labs. “About fifteen minutes ago.”

“And how long was the last one?” Swann inserts a high tech thermometer into in Superman’s ear.

“About an hour. It started at ten, I think.”

“And nothing between then?”

“No, why? Is that bad?”

“Probably good.” The thermometer beeps and Swann takes it out, frowning at the reading. “Last time the gap between drops increased as he improved – it might mean this case of Kryptonite poisoning isn’t as severe.”

“I still want him under a solar lamp asap,” Dr Klein says. “Emil, run downstairs and prep the MRI. Once this drop ends I want a look inside his lungs, find out what’s happening.”

It’s a little disorienting to hear the scientists’ rapid-fire exchange of information. There’s no bickering now, just practised cooperation. They’ve done this before.

Lois and Richard hurry along in their wake until they reach a lab like a greenhouse with rows of pot plants neatly lined up on stainless steel tables. The pot plants are recklessly shoved aside and Kal is lifted onto the table, directly underneath a massive solar lamp. Lois and Richard have to stand back as scientists hurry back and forth, attaching monitors or adjusting equipment. She feels horribly helpless as she hasn’t felt since walking onto Lex Luthor’s boat.

What were they thinking, that they could help Kal? Seeing all this, it becomes clear how outclassed they were, how pointless their efforts at medical treatment were –

“You can touch him now,” Dr Klein tells them. 

“What?”

“We’re all set up, and if he's delirious a familiar face might help keep him calm.” He shoos them toward the table with little encouraging motions. "Just don't disturb any of the equipment."

All the scientists are focused intently on their activities, not appearing to pay any attention. Kal is dazed and passive under the solar lamps, an oxygen mask over his face. Then he sees Lois and Richard, and she's not imagining the sudden relief in his eyes, or how he lifts his hand as if reaching for them. In two steps she’s at his side, fingers curled through his own.

“See?” She tells him. “Right here the whole time.”

“Never doubted–” He coughs and she strokes his hair, waiting for the fit to run its course. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“For what I said before. I didn’t mean…I sometimes wish – if I wasn’t a man, it wouldn’t _hurt_ so much – ”

Lois squeezes his hand tightly.

“You are a man,” she says fiercely, even as her vision blurs. “One of the best men I’ve ever known. You ever forget that, I’ll slap you stupid.”

“Or stab me with a shoe?” His mouth quirks into a smile, and she remembers suddenly how Clark would tease her gently prior to the erasure of her memory, and how he never had afterwards. How much she’d missed that.

She presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Only if you break into our house in the middle of the night.”

* * *

Sometimes Richard thinks it would be nice if life came with cue cards. Like, this is your cue to quietly leave, to extract yourself from this relationship with your heart and dignity still intact. Watching Lois hover over Clark, their heads close together as they whisper, he thinks that this cue came too damn late for either heart or dignity. Who is he kidding; the heart was a lost cause from the start. But he’d had hopes for dignity.  

They’re going to have to find a way to break this gently to Jason. Forget trying to explain two identities, now they’re going to have to explain how parents can sometimes break up and it’s no one’s fault, except maybe the optimistic idiot who fell for Superman’s girl in the first place –

Kal lifts his head weakly.

“Richard?” He says. “Where’s–”

“He’s right here,” Lois says reassuringly. She grabs Richard’s wrist and drags him the last distance until he's standing shoulder to shoulder with her by Kal's beside. “See? We’re both right here.”  

Kal’s gaze finds Richard and his whole face relaxes, like it’s this enormous relief. It soothes some of Richard’s wounded pride. So maybe Clark wasn’t faking some of that friendship after all. You can chase after a guy’s girl and still feel bad about double-crossing him.

“Right here,” Richard echoes with a forced smile, but Kal’s gaze has drifted. A free hand lifts to trace the forming bruise on Richard’s cheek, the touch so cold it makes Richard shiver.

“ _Raop nim sar_ ,” Kal murmurs, in that other language. “ _Kasa fiy tra keyen_ …”

“Just a little knocked round,” Richard says, taking a guess at Kal’s intended meaning. “Nothing too bad. I’ve been punched harder chasing the next headline.”

“ _Khuhp nim teieln_.”

“English, Kal,” Lois reminds him gently. 

“I’m cold.” It’s said peevishly and so like Jason that Richard wants to laugh. Then Kal asks them eagerly: “Are you going to warm me like before?”

Lois laughs softy and even Richard can’t quite hide a smile.

“I’m pretty sure the doctors wouldn’t like it,” he says.

“Oh,” Kal says, sounding disappointed.

Richard’s not the kind of man to use the word ‘adorable’, but Kal’s making him want to break that rule. It’s a shame that alcohol doesn’t work on the guy, or else Richard would take him out drinking just to see that face he pulls when there’s something he doesn’t like –

Richard cuts that thought short. It’s going to kill him enough to lose Lois. There’s no point in compounding it. Best to limit the pain, not open himself up to even more.

Watching Lois stroke Kal’s forehead though, he has the feeling he’s not going to have any choice about it.  

* * *

An MRI of Kal’s lungs reveals Kryptonite (big surprise, _not_ ), which sparks a heated debate over how to treat it. Radiation is floated as a suggestion, and so is surgery until Lois firmly let the scientists know that isn’t going to fly. She’s backed up by Klein and Swann, who are horrified by the idea of _‘experimental surgery on an anatomy we’re still unclear on’_

While they’re fighting it out, Richard slips out to reception to place a call to Perry and tell him to take Jason and Alice to a hotel.

“Don’t tell me where. Just book in somewhere you won’t be recognised. Lois or I will call you in the morning.”

“What the hell is this about?” Perry says. “Did you _lie_ about Clark being sick so the three of you could follow up a lead?” He sounds outraged by the idea.

“No.” Though perhaps that would make a good cover story. “I’ll explain later. I…if we don’t call you back tomorrow, take Jason to Clark’s mother in Smallville.”

He hangs up and thanks the receptionist for letting him use the phone. The receptionist smiles and asks if he’d like a set of clothes. Richard looks down and suddenly recalls that that he’s only wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts.

“Don’t worry,” the receptionist says. “Believe it or not, this happens a lot.”

“People without their clothes?”

“A few of our scientists tend to be pretty harsh on clothing, at least where their experiments are concerned. What’s your size?”

She finds Richard a pair of jeans and shoes from the lab’s ‘emergency cupboard’. He finds some coffee and goes back to the room where Kal was moved after he was stabilized. Lois is by his bedside, scribbling on a notebook.

“Hey.” He stops by her chair and she looks up, smiles.

“Hey. You look tired.”

“I am a little. What are you working on?”

“Just some ideas. I’m making a list of the organised crime syndicates who have the connections to arrange a citywide coordinated string of high-end burglaries.”

She moves so he can read over her shoulder: _Hive, Intergang, Network, The Hundred, Skull, DMT…_

“It worries me that we live in a world where there’s this many suspects.” He hands her the coffee and sits down, yawning. “How did they know where Superman was anyway? Even we didn’t even know he’d be at our house until this afternoon.”

Lois shrugs.

“Lucky guess? I’m his favourite reporter. Maybe they figured it was worth a shot.”

Richard doesn’t need any reminders that the _whole world_ knew that Lois was Superman’s girl and must have been laughing their asses off at Richard.

“Still doesn’t explain the kryptonite angle.” He covers his mouth in a yawn. “They don’t have the connections to… explain… that…”

“You should get some sleep,” Lois says. “You’ve been up all night.”

“So have you.”

“I got a few hours, and I wasn't drugged. You look about ready to fall over. Lie down on the couch and close your eyes.” Her bossiness makes him smile.

“If you insist."

“I do.” She kisses him absent-mindedly. “Now go to sleep." 

* * *

Richard wakes a few hours later with a headache and a crick in his neck. 

Sunlight is streaming through the windows onto Kal’s bed. Lois is slumped over asleep in her chair, head pillowed in her arms on the bed. Dr Klein is taking notes on a clipboard, looking far too awake and refreshed for someone who’s most likely been awake the whole night.

“Good morning,” he says as Richard sits up. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay.” With terrible dreams of coming home and finding an empty house, or watching Lois carry Jason into Kal’s arms, but he’d expected that. He hadn’t been expecting the one where he and Clark were eating lunch in Richard’s office as they worked on a story and Superman had flown in and casually pitched Clark out the window. “What time is it?”

“About seven am.”

“How’s Cl – Kal?”

“Much better. He went through another hot-and-cold cycle while you were asleep. Superman seems confident his body is utilising its own methods of disposal, so our concern is to keep him stable until it’s finished.” Klein scribbles another note. “Fascinating, the Kryptonian physiology. Keep its energy levels balanced and it can recover from nearly anything.”

Kal does seem to have some real color to his face. Richard studies his sleeping face before making himself re-focus on Klein.

“Do you know if anyone could give me a lift into the Daily Planet?” 

“Surely you’re not going into work.” Klein looks scandalized at the idea of life going on when there’s an alien mystery to solve.

“I have to pick up my spare phone, and my emergency credit cards.”

Which is true, but not the entire truth. He figures it’s best to start distancing himself as soon as possible. 

“Oh, of course. I think Daisy on reception is going into the city to pick up breakfast for everyone. Perhaps she could give you and Lois a lift in.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll let her sleep.” 

Richard carefully picks up Lois and lays her on the couch in a more comfortable position. She mumbles; “Close the blinds”.

“Sorry, love,” he whispers. “Just me. Go back to sleep.” 

She makes an incoherent sound before drifting off again. He gently kisses her hair and can’t help but wonder how many kisses they have left. It’s a maudlin thought and he chases it away. 

Dr Klein has stepped out of the room and Richard looks down at sleeping Kal. He really does look better, if not as healthy as he should. Richard has a sudden, crazy impulse to say something, now while Kal is unconscious. But with his luck Kryptonians can hear things in their sleep, and anyway he’s not sure what he’d say.

_That was a shitty thing to do, pretending to be someone you’re not._

_You didn’t have to lie to us. Definitely not Lois, but not me either._

_You really hurt my feelings._

He swallows that last one down and in a combination of reckless anger and realisation that this is literally the only the ever chance he’ll get, he kisses Kal on the forehead, in the same place that Lois had pressed her lips last night.

“I wish I could hate you,” tumbles out of his mouth. He closes his lips before anything else can escape and leaves for reception.


End file.
